


magnetism: an unrequited love story in five verses

by thunderylee



Category: Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Fluff, M/M, side bden/ryro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-19
Updated: 2006-08-19
Packaged: 2019-02-08 01:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12853323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Looking at him is like looking in a mirror. Almost.





	magnetism: an unrequited love story in five verses

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

> i. perception

Looking at him is like looking in a mirror. Almost. William doesn’t remember the first time he laid eyes on Brendon, nor does it matter in the Grand Scheme of Things. Even the fact that they don’t look a thing alike means nothing, because in William’s mind it makes complete sense. He sees Brendon and he sees himself – not in appearance, but in presence (how William would like to present himself). Brendon is everything that William wants to be, and for that reason he hates him upon sight.

“Hi, I’m Brendon.”

William regards Brendon’s outstretched hand and overly cheerful grin and has an overwhelming urge to spit. Instead, he puts on his best fake smile and accepts the handshake. Brendon’s face falls but he recovers quickly, wondering what he did wrong. William knows this because he would be thinking the same thing.

“See you around, then.” Brendon waves hopefully and turns away in defeat when William doesn’t respond.

Brendon walks away, and William watches him go.

> ii. denial

William is getting his hair styled when he hears the voice – _that_ voice. _His_ voice. William would know that voice anywhere, and not just because it’s all over the radio. He raises his eyes in the mirror just in time to see the blur of makeup and perfection pass by the open doorway only to backtrack and poke his head in the room.

“Hey,” Brendon says, followed by his killer smile.

While William’s bandmates flock to fawn over the new arrival, William remains in his seat under the pretense of finishing his hair. His eyes lock with Brendon’s through the reflection, hard enough to make Brendon clear his throat uncomfortably and excuse himself.

“You better get used to having him around,” says someone. A bandmate, a friend; his identity isn’t important since William isn’t listening (he’s always listening). “There will be more awards shows where we’ll will have to share the stage. Why don’t you like him anyway?”

“You’re asking the wrong question,” pipes up another voice. Someone else. Irrelevant. “You should be asking him why he likes him so much.”

“Shut up,” William growls under his breath, and they do.

> iii. indulgence

How long has it been? Who knows. He bets Brendon knows (Brendon knows everything), but he isn’t about to ask in the middle of this stuffy closet at a random party. Besides, the body part with which he would speak the question is rather occupied by present company.

How did they get here? Who knows. William hasn’t been drinking, although his mind is fairly clouded. All he knows is that Brendon’s tongue is in his mouth and Brendon’s arms are wrapped around his person, and it feels good. Connecting so intimately with someone whom he previously loathed seems to drive away the demons and make the world at peace.

Clothes are torn, skin is scratched, and William doesn’t even think about what he’ll do afterwards. Whatever this is, it’s here and now, and nothing else matters. William thinks that time could stand still and the rest of his life could be spent with Brendon in this closet (in his embrace), and he would be okay with that.

“You make me feel like a whore,” William says, and Brendon fucks him.

> iv. betrayal

He has almost forgotten. Almost, but not quite. When he sees Brendon on the street holding the hand of another guy (his best friend), William seethes. With jealousy, with hurt, with anger. He has half a mind to walk up to Brendon and demand an explanation, but he won’t, because that’s something Brendon would do. Alternately, he stands rooted to his spot, on his way to somewhere that has since left his recent memory, and stares.

Brendon stares back. The distance between them is enough to distort William’s expression, which Brendon mistakes for pleasant recognition and waves jovially. The man (boy) to whom he is attached follows his gaze and regards William curiously. Brendon whispers something in his ear, and they both smile.

“Hey!” Brendon calls out brightly, leading his companion towards where William is still frozen. “I haven’t seen you for awhile. How are you? This is Ryan.”

Ryan offers a small wave, but the instant tightening on Brendon’s hand doesn’t go unnoticed.

William nods and searches his brain for something to say. Lucky for him, Brendon likes to talk and has no problem carrying on a one-sided conversation (his confidence is covetable). As he speaks, William watches his face muscles contract and expand at the same rate that his free hand is illustrating his words. His eyes light up and his voice increases in excitement. William feels that he should be paying attention, but his priorities lie elsewhere.

Brendon invites him to lunch, and he accepts.

> v. affirmation

The sofabed in William’s living room has been folded out for awhile now. There is no point in putting it up when Brendon sleeps on it fairly often. William never asks and Brendon never tells; each time that William is disrupted from his monotonous activity (gratefully), he simply opens the door and stands aside.

Brendon makes breakfast in the morning, and it is quite a production. William has learned to keep substantial food products in his possession or Brendon will put together an omelet out of whatever he can find. While they eat, Brendon tells stories, about anything that comes to his mind, about anything and anyone but Ryan; William has started listening.

Each visit ends the same, with Brendon hugging William and thanking him for being a friend (he’s very affectionate). William has since warmed up to this type of behavior, to Brendon in general. He looks forward to the soft knock on his door on any given night, at the same time angry with himself for remaining uninformed. He should at least give Brendon the comfort of an “are you okay?” (It’s what Brendon would do.)

When Brendon shows up with a suitcase, William’s silence is shattered.

“No,” Brendon replies, his voice quiet and unlike his own. “I’m not okay.”

William opens his arms and Brendon falls into them, holding onto him tightly. Wordlessly, William places Brendon’s suitcase by the wall and stuffs his hands in his pockets, shuffling nervously.

“You don’t want to be me,” Brendon says seriously, almost in indignance.

William frowns. “Being you is what got us here.”

Brendon checks the refrigerator for breakfast food, and William folds up the couch.


End file.
